


Anxiety

by Ninhaoma



Series: Dressrosa [7]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light BDSM, No Plot/Plotless, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26844145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninhaoma/pseuds/Ninhaoma
Summary: She didn’t know if the wild ride her life had become that one, first, overly dramatic night would ever stop.Some nights, she never wanted it to end.Some days, she never wanted it to begin.
Relationships: Donquixote Doflamingo/Violet
Series: Dressrosa [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751851
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to the talented Ladyhawke (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jhWO2Ix7Oc) and was inspired to write this.
> 
> Enjoy.

_I take a pill to help me through the day_

The world was still shrouded in darkness when Violet woke. The morning air was chilly, stretching its clammy tendrils into the smallest cracks in the castle, permeating everything with a bone-deep weariness.

She would have loved to stay in bed, sinking into the soft mattress, enjoying the last moments of warmth and sleep. To know that when she got up, there would be breakfast waiting for her, a smiling maid ready to help her with the arduous task of dressing and to get all the corsets and lacings and knots done properly.

Instead, she forced herself to throw off her blanket and to get dressed by herself. Her dress, much plainer now than what she had been accustomed to in her youth, was of a simple cut, easy to lace up by yourself and even easier for someone else to untie.

A soul crushing longing was etched into her very being.

In the beginning, it had been easy to get lost in tears; to cry herself to sleep and to empty her feelings in the morning with a good, hearty moment of weeping.

After a while, that had become difficult to do, as other matters started to occupy both her evenings and mornings.

So she took refuge in the next best thing.

A good thing indeed that her upbringing had included valuable lessons, taught in secret and during clandestine moments, when a princess really shouldn’t be out and about: lessons about which vintages were the ones with best price to alcohol ratio to get guests drunk enough for secrets to slip; which bottles opened doors as they emptied; and which were to be enjoyed in private instead of used in the game of shadows.

And most importantly: where the keys to the wine cellars were kept.

  
_I stay inside until I feel okay_

But she could put off the unpleasant task of facing the world, at least for a moment.

First, she focused on all her indoor tasks. She directed the maids in their household duties, discussing matters of importance with the housekeeper, such as what to do with Maria, who Diamante-sama thought was very fetching indeed, and saw to the general habitability of the castle.

When she was ready, she ventured outside.

  
_I’ve always been so cautious_

Her whole life, Violet had been cautious. In her youth, she had been interested in history and the arts and the more passive fields of the proper upbringing of a princess than her sister. Scarlett had been burning for politics and the righteous treatment of man and the inequalities in the world, and, frankly, stuck in a very black and white view of the world. Viola had been interested in smelling the fresh bread in town and hearing the laughter of children in the balmy evening air and listening to the tales of washerwomen and fishwives and the ladies and gents of negotiable affection (although she always got _such_ a talking to when they found out she’d been hanging around Lulu and Nell and Pearl and the other inhabitants of Mahogany Hall). Viola heard all about the problems and opinions and wishes of the people and treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart while she sat silently as her sister and father discussed (quarrelled) about the impact of raised taxes on the treasury and wondered how the rippling effects of new taxes on luxury products could (and would) affect Lulu’s twins.

But no cautiousness or rumour collecting had helped during that night, when the world came crashing down around them in flames and dark laughter and snow swirled in the air.

Her status was obvious, and her powers had been too well known to conceal. She could either bow or break and neither option seemed palatable at the moment.

But Violet had always been a cautious woman, so she bowed, to prepare for a rise when the moment was right.

The moment just never seemed right.

So she bowed again and again until she didn’t remember the feeling of standing upright, head held high under the sparkling sky.

_  
But I’m sick of feeling nauseous_

Violet had never been so alone in her life.

Day followed day, leading into weeks and months and years, and there was no end in sight. Her days filled with routine and ache and wispy wishes breathed into the night.

And she was sick of it.

Sick of the uncertainty, of the constant fear, of never feeling enough. She was a princess of Dressrosa, whatever some fallen angel bolstered and pretended. So his family had been Dressrosa’s rulers eight hundred years ago? That was before log poses, before extensive knowledge about the four seas was available, before even proper _ships_ , so who cared?

She was sick of feeling nauseous, of feeling like she wasn’t enough.

She was enough as she was. She could never be more or less than what she was at this precise moment; she could always change for the future, but right here, right now, she was enough (no matter what Giolla said, almost too softly to hear).

  
_It’s not that I am losing  
This wall of my own choosing_

And she was still here of her own choosing. She chose to bow; she chose to follow orders. All in order to save her father, but what did that matter? He didn’t seek her out and although it was easier done than said to find him, she never did. Not after the first few times, when she found him hiding with loyalists, the whole room seething with resentment.

Against her.

Against the path she had chosen. Against her actions, the same ones that had saved her father’s head.

But he didn’t know that, did he?

He had been beaten bloody, lying unconscious, as she had pleaded with the new rulers for his life and future. When she had promised to do anything, as long as they let her father live.

He didn’t know what she had sacrificed.

So she sought absolution where she could find it.

  
_Take me on a ride_

She threw herself fully into the missions given to her, no matter the time or place. Of course, being a former crown princess, her face was relatively well known in the area. Or at least, her face at nineteen, when she had been a child and a teenager, was known. In one way, it was lucky that there had only been one Levely during her time as crown princess as she had been just seventeen, still growing into the woman she was to become.

She remembered a few proposals (none made in earnest of course) but mostly she remembered the attendants asking about her poor older sister. How sad it was that she had been taken before her time, how she would have made such a magnificent queen.

Now, almost no-one connected the former princess, rumoured to be killed during the Occasion, with the dark beauty of the Donquixote family.

No-one remembered little Viola from the previous Levely, hiding behind Scarlett’s shadow, six years younger and so very insignificant, Devil Fruit or no.

Viola, who had spent her entire childhood in court and knew her way around protocol and propriety and the intricate political games playing out under the umbrella of the World Government. Viola, who had been brought up to charm and to negotiate and to seek out weaknesses in political opponents.

No matter what court she was sent to infiltrate or what ruler to either bring down or to elevate beyond dreams, it was done.

Monet might be adept at playing the role of a chambermaid, but Violet could charm her way into the good graces of the royals. She knew who to tease and who should be kept at arm’s length, when to smile and when to frown, when to act scandalised and when to be scandalised.

She fulfilled her missions perfectly.

  
_Show me how to hide the voice in my head_

And the voices in her head never stopped.

The voices lamenting her lost homeland, her murdered sister. The voices badgering her, nagging her, about her inaction. The voices murmuring in her ear about her failures as a heir to the Riku line, as a sister, as a child. The voices that were the embodiment of Dressrosa for her.

Some days, she just wanted them to stop. Some days, she relished in their familiar cadence. Sometimes, she pondered pouring acid in her ears just to enjoy some blessed silence.

_Meet me on the road, tell me all you know_

It felt like a lifetime that she had been travelling on this path of thorns and bones. A lifetime of laughing (a pitch higher, a tad shriller) with Lulu and Nell and Pearl as they applauded her dancing, a lifetime of turning her nose up at the heady smells of sea that followed the fishwives and sneering at the street urchins as they begged her for scraps.

And she couldn’t share her burden with anyone.

No-one to ask for advice (so she had to figure it out on her own), no-one to turn to when things were heavy and problems gathered (and they were often so very heavy), no-one to twirl around in joy (the few times the sun broke through the clouds).

_  
I’m here on my own_

She was on her own.

Not even Tank, trusty, familiar captain Tank, was truly present. He always held onto hope that it would all be a misunderstanding, that king Riku would be back any day know to clear up the mess. He wasn’t present in their current circumstances in the same way Violet was.

And Violet knew that wouldn’t happen. She knew her father wouldn’t sit on the throne again, wouldn’t rule with a just hand and even judgement once more.

She had seen her father’s madness. She had seen his actions during the blood-soaked nightmare that had the disadvantage of being real.

She still loved him and still pleaded for his life.

But she couldn’t forget the mad rush into the flames, the way his sword slashed down and bit into the citizens, into their people. How their life had bled out in the street where he passed, how tears of madness streamed down his face as he hacked and trampled his way through the crowds gathered in the night, afraid and uncertain.

_  
Take me on a ride_

One of the ways she chose to escape her pain was to throw herself into passion. No matter the source, be it in the rhythm of the dance or the adrenaline from missions, or from plain lust, passion never failed her. The press of her dagger biting into the tender flesh of a fickle lover brought peace to her. When her feet flowed over the cobbled streets to the beat of drums and strums of guitars, she could feel her soul calm down. And she had never been so still, so filed to the brim with peace, as when she held her composure before another courtier as he inspected her official paperwork before granting her access to her next target.

And the first time she got the impenetrable Donquixote Doflamingo in bed with her, when she got him to sigh and stutter and _break_ , she almost achieved nirvana.

_Show me how to hide the voice in my head_

One of the few times the voices in her head stopped, was when she was with him.

_You’ve got away with my anxiety_

He was the source of all her pain and misery.

_It’s yours to take back_

Therefore, it was his responsibility to take it back. To endure it instead of her, to grant her bliss and peace, even if for only a short while. To fuck her until she screamed and to break under her hands and cunt and mouth.

_  
I walk alone, I stumble to the beat_

She was so alone.

_My stack of drums are always on repeat_

Her days repeated, one after the other. Wake up, get ready, bear the day, go to sleep. The only distinction was if she woke up and went to bed alone or with company.

_You never win when losing is a game_

He let her dominate him, let her cage him under her, determining the pace.

He never won when losing was a game. When the end goal was to get her under him, or on top of him, hair tousled and sweaty, pants and moans filling the air. When she twisted his nipples and pinched his thighs, making him arch his back and teasing out curses and pleading through clenched teeth.

When he did the same to her.

When no-one was winning but both were falling apart.

_Inside your head there’s no one else to blame_

Nothing was ever his fault.

Violet saw that quick enough.

It was during one of the first dinners with the whole family gathered. It was something inconsequential; some information related to the wishes of the marines and his status as a shichibukai hadn’t gotten delivered and so the marines were a bit miffed with him.

But it wasn’t his fault, Trebol assured him. How could it be? It must be the useless drones, never doing their work right. They would be punished accordingly.

No matter that as shichibukai, it was Doflamingo’s responsibility to organise his own work, to ensure that the right people knew their tasks related to the main objective given to them by the marines.

It wasn’t his fault.

How could it be?

_  
I’ve always been so cautious_

How could it be her fault, either?

She had always followed the rules (mostly).

She should have been rewarded, somehow. This felt _unfair_.

Well, princess, life isn't fair.

And now she was in for a lifetime of being cautious, interspersed with a night-time of lust and entwined bodies and _oh, yes, right there, don’t stop_.

_  
But I’m sick of feeling nauseous_

She’d probably never feel whole again. It was one thing to take a life in self-defence, but to do it time and time again, for no real reason at all (she didn’t count ‘politics’ or ‘the economy’ as good enough)?

Lesser mortals would have bowed out a long time ago.

No-wonder she always felt so nauseous.

  
_It’s not that I am losing_

She never felt so whole as when she had him between her legs, driving into her, making her nails skate down his spine and needy little moans escape her tortured lungs. This was one thing she had, one thing she could control. Whenever she felt his breathing become irregular and his movements erratic, she felt a sense of triumph steal trough her.

She wasn’t losing. Not at this.

No, in this arena she was still a force to be reckoned with.

And when, afterwards, he kissed her temple and gathered her in his arms, or turned away and started snoring, she could feel at peace with the world. In those few moments where she was all alone, all Viola.

Every night, her walls crumbled.

_  
This wall of my own choosing_

Every morning, she built them up again, brick by brick.

_Take me on a ride_

She didn’t know if the wild ride her life had become that one, first, overly dramatic night would ever stop.

Some nights, she never wanted it to end.

Some days, she never wanted it to begin.

_  
Show me how to hide the voice in my head_

The voices in her head were dulled with the latest vintages and with the pink clouds of pleasure and the cool thrill of the chase.  
  


_Meet me on the road, tell me all you know_

Trebol dropped her off, leaving a distinct sense of feeling sticky.

She squared her shoulders and smoothed down her dress.

Showtime.  
  


_I’m here on my own_

She smiled at the courtier who gave her a slight bow and showed her into the throne room.

A week later, she walked out with the mission completed.

  
_Take me on a ride_

This time, he had come to get her. What an honour.

She could tell his eyes narrowed behind his glasses (his damned damned damned glasses, always hiding his expression but by now she could read him like a book and those damned damned damned glasses were just an excuse for him) as his posture stiffened when he saw the tell-tale marks on her neck and the slight tear in her dress.

If he didn’t want her to sleep around, maybe he shouldn’t send her on missions that required it.

_  
Show me how to hide the voice in my head_

That night he was more forceful than usual, pounding ruthlessly into her from behind as he pressed her head into the mattress, her arms splayed out like broken wings.

The next day she couldn’t walk properly or talk without somebody asking her if she was coming down with a cold.

  
_You’ve got away with my anxiety_

The next night, she had him tied up and depleted the castle’s entire stock of candles.

_It’s yours to take back_

She smiled demurely into her morning tea as germophobic Giolla asked if there was a flu going around (with young master sounding so hoarse and Violet yesterday, you know it’s really not good…) and both Diamante and Trebol choked on their morning pastries.

  
  
_You’ve got away with my anxiety_

She was still feeling nauseous, but by now she knew her medications.

_  
It’s yours to take back_

And she screamed into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> When I read through One Piece the last time, I started thinking about Dressrosa: I'm not sure how much the Riku family knew about each other during the decade long…troubling time. Viola's fruit allows her to see what happens, but it doesn't allow her to hear (as far as I know) and although she knew her father well, the only thing she could have seen that night was how he attacked their citizens. And although her father loves her very much, he probably didn't know why she chose to join the Donquixote family. They didn't have too much time for small talk that night, after all.
> 
> Something to explore more in future fics.


End file.
